October 2008

October 31, 2008

October 30, 2008

As some of you know, Briana Brownlow of Figs with Bri lost her battle with cancer earlier this week at age 32. Her husband Marc has written a beautiful tribute here. Sending warmest thoughts to Marc and the rest of her family. Bri’s wonderful, vibrant presence in the blogging community will not be forgotten.

October 28, 2008

Goat. My god, how did I not know how tasty goat is? Why have you all been keeping this from me? You know I like meat!

There were slim pickings at Codman Farm last week, mostly goat and more goat, so I said, what the hay. Goat it is. Nothing I cooked last week was going to taste good anyway. I did some trash-talking on Facebook, threatening to eat it and whatnot, when Jen Maiser steered me toward a tremendous goat curry recipe. Oh. My. God. Vikram Vij, I may have to purchase your cookbook if that recipe is any indication. It was fantastic. The lack of local rice proved frustrating, however, with all of that delicious sauce pooling where a rice paddy should be. We did the best we could with pita bread, and I froze the rest of it for next week when we’ll be eating rice seven days a week just because we can.

I have to say that I’ll be looking at goats a little differently from now on. And not just because of their creepy rectangular pupils. There used to be a certain innocence to our relationship, goats and I, unlike the tainted history between me and the rest of the barnyard crew. Those virtuous days are gone. So, I guess that would make donkey the final frontier for me at Codman. As far as I know they only have one. But it is a farm. So. (Clears throat.) I’m waaaaaiting…

October 27, 2008

Who knew that all you had to do was freak out on your blog, and complete strangers would come to your rescue? Wow. I never really think to ask for help, but now I see why it’s so popular.

From your e-mails and comments, I’ve compiled this list of local products that I thought I’d share, including some of my own favorite discoveries. Thanks to everyone for your help (especially Holly) (and Karen) (and Sarah and Annabelle…). It’s very much appreciated.

More Local Sources:

Australis Aquaculture raises barramundi, a relative of an alternative to the nearly-decimated Chilean sea bass, in an environmentally sustainable, self-contained environment in Turners Falls, MA. There’s been a lot of buzz about this fish. Ask your local fishmonger if they carry it.

Real Pickles in Montague, MA. Fermented dill pickles, kimchi, sauerkraut, and more made from vegetables grown in the Northeast.

Chef Myron's all-natural Asian sauces are made in Millers Falls, MA and carried by Whole Foods and Stop & Shop. Reader Holly says the Yakitori sauce is great on bok choy. Hallelujah!

Pekarski's in South Deerfield, MA makes all kinds of sausages and smoked meats. I myself would be very interested in their kielbasa. Very, very interested.

South River Miso, located in Conway, MA, offers several kinds of genuine miso made the old-fashioned way.

Appalachian Naturals in Greenfield, MA uses local ingredients in all of their dips, salad dressings, and sauces.

Raye’s Mustard. The last remaining traditional stone-ground mustard mill in North America is in Eastport, ME. I can vouch for their Old World Gourmet as an excellent whole-grain Dijon on par with the French stuff. Their Aroostook Gold is made from mustard seeds grown right in Maine.

Apple cider vinegar from Carlson Orchards in Harvard, MA. I’ve been making vinaigrettes with this all month long and it’s perfect for pickling. Russo’s carries it. I’ve also heard good things about Apex cider vinegar out of Shelburne, MA, but I’ve never been able to get my hands on it.

And, finally, did you know there’s a service that will deliver local
food right to your house? Yeah way. In Season has relationships with a whole
bunch of New England farms and businesses, and I recently got a
pretty sweet chicken from Butter Brook Farm in Acton, MA through them.

October 24, 2008

Crying Week should officially be drawing to a close any minute now. Aaaaaaaany minute. I’m sure I’ve impressed you all with my emotional resilience.

I’ve taken it easy this week, as you will notice, relying on takeout pizza (craft) for three meals out of the week and soup I had in the freezer for another. And also by not blogging as much because I don’t feel like it. This breather should enable me to finish up strong and in a more dignified manner in the next and final week. Or not. We’ll see. (The suspense is killing me.)

Anyway, I had a few girlfriends over for wine and some of the aforementioned pizza delivery when Husband arrived home from his evening classes. After asking us if we had fun talking about our feelings and other girlish topics, naturally his next question was whether there was any pizza left and what kind.

Diamond, said one friend.

Estrogen, said another.

Mmmmm, everyone's favorite pizza toppings! I think someone needs to lay off the Estrogen Pizza for a little while, though.

October 22, 2008

Not everything went badly last week. Let’s take a look at what went right before my unraveling.

Ah, yes, the chowder went right.

I didn’t have a go-to recipe, so I decided to experiment a little. I started by making a list of all the things I like in a chowder. If I’m going to invent a chowder recipe, I didn’t want to forget anything. Like clams. Oh, and bacon. Celery. Bay leaf and thyme. Potatoes. Big hunks of fish. Cayenne. I like my onions sliced instead of diced so they hang over the edge of my spoon like they’re trying to get away. I also prefer my clams to remain tucked into their submersible cots until the very last minute. I like to think they’re more comfortable that way. And less chewy.

From there I crafted my best approximation of what Jasper White would do with this list. Hmmmm, what would he do in a situation like this besides charge me a million dollars at Summer Shack? But since I didn’t really know, I followed my own instincts—the very same instincts that would betray me only days later. It came out tasty, though. Husband didn’t cry and the kids ate it without complaining, which is all I really ask at this point.

Two things I would have changed. The clams I used were a bit sandy and could have benefited from an overnight soak in water in the fridge so they could purge themselves of their grit. (I’ve heard of using salt or cornmeal in the water, too, but I’ve never tried it.) Also, I would have used a starchier type of potato, which I think would have given the soup a little more body. This version is creamy, but not thick. If you prefer your chowder thick, I would suggest stirring in a few tablespoons of flour in with the onions and celery toward the end of their cooking. But usually I just rely on free-agent potato starch to do the trick.

People can get pretty insufferable about chowder around here, so I can’t wait to read the comments in my delicate condition. Still, one should always make chowder the way one likes it, no matter what the Chowder Police say. As long as there are no tomatoes involved. Adding tomatoes to chowder is very wrong.

P.S. Very wrong.

Fish and Clam Chowder

You can always mash some of the potatoes against the side of the pot to release the starches for extra thickening. That’s a Jasper White trick.

In a heavy-bottomed pot, fry the bacon until crispy. Remove, let cool, crumble, and set aside. To the bacon fat in the pot, add onions, celery, and bay leaf. Cook low and slow until the vegetables are wilted, about 5 minutes. Stir in flour and cook 2-3 minutes more. Add potatoes and arrange fish on top. Add hot water or fish stock to cover the potatoes. Add thyme and cayenne, and simmer five minutes, covered. Add clams on top. Simmer 5-10 minutes longer, covered, until the shells open. Discard any unopened clams. Gently stir in milk and cream (you want the flaky fish chunks to stay as intact as possible—have fun with that). Season with salt and pepper. Heat until just ready to simmer. Serve sprinkled with crumbled bacon.

October 19, 2008

Wow, Friday’s post was a fun one, wasn’t it? I guess low blood sugar combined with hormone fluctuations and a dip in iron reserves really does wonders when you’re trying to set a world record for self-pity. But it turns out the judges won’t give you an award simply for having your period. Too many other people in the same bloody boat. Ditto for making a crap dinner. But, wait, there’s more, I exclaimed, as I outlined a newly amended list of grievances. No deal, they said. Come back later when you have actual problems.

Anyway, that post went up because I think it’s important to examine all the aspects of the Eat Local Challenge, not just the ones I’ve lovingly crafted to make myself look good. Thanks for your encouragement, by the way, especially you who offered to do some shopping for me—it all helped. Now let’s review why I’m doing this challenge. Perhaps my failure to outline these reasons at the beginning is why it’s been so easy for me to lose sight of them.

Why Am I Doing This Again?

To continue to show my support to local growers and producers in my community.

To learn what else we produce around here that I’m not aware of.

To share this information.

The goal is not to “win” the Eat Local Challenge. The goal is not to “prove” anything. The goal is merely to learn. Okay, Tammy? Got that? Everybody’s a winner when we do it that way, so calm down.

The problem, of course, is that I’m emotionally invested in it. I owe a lot to the local foods movement for improving my quality of life. My first Eat Local Challenge last year had a huge impact on me. It was the reason why I joined a vegetable CSA for the first time. It was how I got in the habit of sourcing my meat, eggs, milk, and cheese locally. It made me examine my priorities, including what’s important to me in my immediate community and what I want to pass on to my kids. And it completely changed the way I cook and look at food. It’s the difference between seeing food as something alive versus seeing it as something dead. Whom do we entrust to nourish us and how do we think of them: as nurses who nurture us to good health, or something more like morticians, just painting the illusion of life onto a corpse?

Hyperbole? You tell me.

There’s an element of romance to my view of it, to be sure, some of which matches up to reality (and some of which doesn’t). The Challenge continues to be a learning experience. An extreme exercise devised to help you figure out your own balance. So I go on, trying to keep this idea of balance in mind.

October 17, 2008

In case you’re under the impression that this year’s Eat Local Challenge has been just one big piece of bacon after another and everything’s been going great, let me elucidate you. The past two days have been complete crap. But what about the bike, you might ask? What happened to all the happiness and the smiling? Yeah, well, I wrote that post before things took a turn for the worse. And today I couldn’t even go out and ride said bike to make myself feel better because I was too busy making pasta and bread and a whole bunch of other stupid things that didn’t even taste good. Then I got my period, hence my cheerful tone.

The Challenge has really been fine up until this point. Yes, it’s a bit tiring to do so much cooking from scratch, but I've already had more than a year of practice cooking with the seasons, so it's just a more intense version of what I've been doing all along. But now the farmer’s markets are starting to close, our CSA has ended, and my freezer is not full. I’m getting tired. I have bok choy up the wazoo, and yet how do you cook Asian food without soy sauce, fish sauce, or rice. I’m down to one local garlic clove, which I’ve started addressing as “my precious.” And it’s possible that I may have entirely forgotten how to cook.

Tonight’s meal almost made a grown man cry. The bok choy was limp and flavorless once I was through with it, the noodles in peanut sauce were somehow wrong, and the squash was, well…still squash (it never had a chance). I don’t think I’ve ever seen Husband unable to finish a meal I’ve cooked. He can always find something to like on the plate. It makes me wonder, am I in a bad mood because of the food, or is the food bad because of my mood? It’s like the chicken and the egg. How do you determine the starting point of a never-ending loop? And do you know what always lifts my spirits? A puzzle that has no solution.

Anyway, there were a whole bunch of other dumb things that happened. I mentioned a wee percentage of them on Twitter. The point is, I could really use a good night’s sleep. Meaning wake me when it’s November.

October 16, 2008

No, not with the Farmer. We are not on speaking terms. Yesterday was the last day of the Summer CSA, and I’ve been weeping bitter tears ever since. Sure, it’s been a good run. And we got to pick our own raspberries unexpectedly for the fifth week in a row. Big deal. A lot of comfort that’ll be this time next week when it’s just me and a pile of mangled squash to get us through the rest of the Eat Local Challenge.

My new love would never abandon me like this. Want to meet her?

Isn’t she amazing? So sleek. And the best part? FREE!!! Want to know how? No, I didn’t steal it. My mommy bought it for me for my birthday! True story. She reads this blog and we talk sometimes, too.

Lately, as you know, I’ve been entertaining romantic ideas of recycling somebody’s dusty old vintage bicycle for my new, possibly fleeting hobby. But people don’t want to part with their beloved bikes no matter how much I beg. It’s really annoying. So imagine my surprise when I was confronted with something so shiny! Many thanks to Mom and Frank at Spoke ‘n’ Wheel for facilitating the transaction. (BTW, this totally beats out the Wonder Woman Underoos she gave me two years ago, which held the previous title of Best Birthday Gift Ever.)

So now I just need to bungee a milk crate onto the back and that should give me some storage space as well as some much-needed street cred in these parts. Also, it might help if I stopped bucking myself off the bike every time I switch gears. Oh, and the smiling has definitely got to stop. NO MORE SMILING, TAMMY.

October 14, 2008

Guess what somebody Googled the other day, the parameters of which brought them straight to my blog? Go on, guess. No, wait, you’ll never guess.

“How to fuck a squash”

I kid you not. And Food on the Food was number 1 out of 731,000!!! Hmmmm. I guess that’s what I get for being so loose with the four-letter words on my blog.

Really, guy, I’m sorry to disappoint you with my paltry information on the subject, but if you’re that determined, I’m pretty sure you can figure it out for yourself. Might I just suggest, however, that sex with an actual person is probably a whole lot more satisfying than sex with a vegetable. Though having not had sex with too many vegetables in my time, maybe I’m not the best person to ask. It’s just that squash tends not to be all that…animated. Usually. But I guess we’ve all had our dry spells. So, anyway, roasting it is probably better than raw, I’m guessing (maybe 400°F for an hour?). That should also make it easier to cut the hole. Letting it cool a bit is a good idea. (Men, let me know if I’m way off. I don’t know what you all do in your spare time.)

Anyway, for those of you who came here looking for something slightly less pornographic, here’s something better you can do with your extra squash. Something very good, actually, from a blog you should know about. Something that will hopefully erase any mental images of violated gourds.

October 13, 2008

See these pancakes? I didn’t make them, Husband did. From all local ingredients. He made bacon, too. All while I was fast asleep, dreaming of the days without children. Perhaps now would be a good time to stop taking him for granted?

October 10, 2008

Today around lunchtime I went to cook some squash, and the one I had my eye on (a bright orange sunshine squash) was rotting. No big deal. I have plenty of others, I thought. I brought it outside to compost it, but decided I was too tired from my earlier bike ride to trek up the hill to the compost pile. Instead, I thought I’d drop it into the flower bed (so named for its lack of flowers) and see if we might end up with a squash plant next year. Because I really need extra squash.

Anyway, I threw it down hard with the hopes of smashing it open to release the seeds. Except the squash didn’t break and instead started rolling down the hill. Down, down, down the steep hill in front of my house, bumping off of tree trunks, roots, and rocks, pinball-style, and taking a flying leap off the rock wall into the street. It still didn’t break and, instead, kept rolling across the road and down the perpendicular side street with an even steeper incline. From my bird’s-eye view, I could see it picking up a frightening amount of speed, catching air every so often, painting its own colorful stripe down the middle of the road. It looked completely ridiculous. It didn’t stop for 200 yards, when it got caught in a storm drain.

I couldn’t stop giggling the whole way down the hill to retrieve it. Didn’t anyone notice this? The cars going by? The guy watering his lawn not 10 feet away? I asked him on my way down.

Me: Did you see a pumpkin roll by?

Him: (no answer)

Me: It was bright orange? It rolled right by here?

Him: (no answer)

(We have an equal proportion of nice neighbors to weird neighbors. It’s hard to tell who’s who sometimes.)

I continued on my way to retrieve the squash. The rotted section on the bottom had broken open a little, but it was still pretty much intact. On the walk back up again, I held up the squash:

Me: You seriously didn’t see this thing roll down the hill?

Him: (turns his back to me)

I tell you, you can get away with anything in Waltham. Nobody sees a thing. So, I guess this is going to be my new squash disposal system. Be careful driving through my neighborhood in broad daylight.

October 09, 2008

You know how much I love to horrify you with ugly food, right? But did you know that I also like to harass Tastespotting with photos such as this, knowing full well that they’ll have a field day making fun of it and curse me for wasting their time by submitting it? As if I actually think it’s art.

Well, it IS art. This was my favorite local meal of the week. I thought it was going to be the squash ravioli in the biggest upset of all time. But no, it was this. Lentils with wilted bok choy, aloo gobi (cauliflower and potatoes with Indian spices), and homemade, whole wheat naan (Indian flatbread) to mop up the spicy bits of onion left behind. And, no, I didn’t get it from Bombay Mahal (though I value their craft).

I remember the first time I was exposed to Indian food in college. I was perplexed. What is all this brown food and why does it smell so good? Now I know that Indian food is just like Italian food in all the ways that matter. Heavy on the garlic and onions, bread to sop things up with. I’m sure there are other parallels. We'll be making Indian food again during this challenge, despite the unpopularity of the lentils with three out of four family members. I plan to rely heavily on Madhur Jaffrey to give me some ideas for all of these legumes I’ve purchased. I hope you have a strong stomach.

October 07, 2008

Since the start of the Eat Local Challenge, I’ve made three shopping trips by bicycle. I was nervous at first, but once I got the braking thing down, everything went just fine. Did you know that bikes these days have hand brakes? Instead of having you pedal backwards to stop? I can’t keep up with the blistering pace of bicycle technology.

The first time I went out, I felt like a fish out of water. I’m used to playing the role of antagonizer, bearing down on cyclists from the snug and bumpered safety of my motor vehicle, not the other way around. Given the way karma usually works, I decided it would be safer to stick to the sidewalks where I could bully the pedestrians. Not that they were intimidated. I gave a generous berth to any obstacles, real or imagined. My braking was early and often. My turns wide and swervy. The only real threat to them was my instability. And my language. I had at least one uncomfortable encounter with that pesky crotch bar. Why is it there again? But once I got to the relative protection of the bike path, I became a lot less clenchy. All in all, it felt empowering to be self-propelled and actually feel the wind in my face, as opposed to the utter windlessness of my jogging speed.

My first trip was to Shaw’s, where you can get a bunch of local products: Stonyfield Farm milk and yogurt, Cabot cheese and butter, Trappist jams made by the monks of Saint Joseph’s Abbey in Spencer. Sometimes they even have local goat cheese. The second trip was to the farmer’s market in town where I got the havarti the kids like so much and found some surprise local strawberries, thank god. I didn’t ask questions. How many apples can one person eat, anyway? Today, I went to Russo’s for milk, butter, cream, bread, and dried beans.

Unfortunately, the cute little wicker basket on the front of the bike I’m borrowing got so weighted down by all of my important dairy products that it rested right on the front wheel, wicker to rubber. The friction threatened to wear a hole right through the bottom of the basket, but, more importantly, it made an extremely loud zipping sound that turned heads at a time when I really didn’t want to be observed. It was nothing a few adjustments didn’t fix temporarily, until the next frost heave, but it became clear that I’ll need to dig out my backpack for my next run.

So far I’ve clocked about 13 miles, which, with today’s fuel prices, means I’ve saved about $2 in gas. Interesting. Somehow, I thought it would be more. Well, it’s fun anyway. At least up until the point where I have to walk the bike up the painfully long, steep hill to my cliffside dwelling like a big loser.

October 06, 2008

Delicious, homemade grape jam? Made from grapes picked in Concord, MA? If so, Trev from The Salted Cod has a few extra jars of the stuff, which he’d be willing to trade you for something. Preferably something good. I traded him some of my spiced tomato jam and told him that there were no problems with it at all. That it came out just fine. And he fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

These are the best grape preserves I’ve ever had. There’s no question who got the better deal.

October 03, 2008

On the second day of the Eat Local Challenge, the Kindergartener came down with a stomach bug and had to stay home from school. Of course. It’s not a week in my household unless somebody’s vomiting. It really doesn’t reflect well on my cooking.

I managed to get some soup made in time for lunch so that the kids could turn their noses up at it. Then the Kindergartener announced, “Do you know what my favorite foods are? Hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, and French fries.” Great. Just what Mommy wants to hear.

It was clear I’d have to step up my game for dinnertime.

Everyone keeps telling me that I should make my own local hot dogs, but guess what, I’m not doing it. I’m not making hot dogs. Not ever. Hot dogs are meant to be made by someone else. Their mystery is part of their appeal.

I will, however, make meatloaf. Same concept, easier execution. My eat local version used ground beef and eggs from Codman Farm, previously roasted sungold tomatoes and shallots from Drumlin that I defrosted and pulsed in the food processor until chunky, bread crumbs, garlic, rosemary, basil, salt and pepper. The kids scarfed it. For the French fries, I did my usual thing: roasting potato wedges in olive oil. And for the macaroni and cheese portion of the meal, I made an arugula salad with turnips. Because I aim to please.

Anyway, the kids ate every last bite (minus the turnips), which is more than I can say for the squash ravioli the night before. I had made and frozen a whole bunch of ravioli filled with roasted winter squash and grated Gouda, which I cooked quickly and smothered in a tomato-sage cream sauce. The kids hated it. The adults, on the other hand, found something else to like in squash.

October 01, 2008

If I’m going to follow all of these Eat Local rules, then I have some rules of my own for this apple cake. First, you must use a cast iron pan. Preferably one that has spent a large portion of its life span getting cozy with bacon fat. If you don’t have one, you must get one now. Quickly, before the market gets any worse. They’re cheap. Just heavy. Then you must cook 200 lbs. of local bacon to properly season it. (Hey, I didn’t make the rules. Or did I?)

Actually, those are my only requirements for this cake, besides eating it slowly, which is impossible. Some rules are meant to be broken. (Except the cast iron one.)

But first, a word about flour. I found a local source for whole wheat flour last year: Wood Prairie Farm in Maine (they also have rye flour and oats). Yes, I know that having stuff like that shipped to me isn’t exactly sustainable from a fuel- consumption standpoint, but maybe if there’s enough demand, people will start growing grain again in Massachusetts. Not on a Midwestern scale, but on a community-supported scale. It’s been known to happen.

It should be noted, however, that, in addition to local grains, I’m also allowing myself to use King Arthur all-purpose flour in equal parts when I see fit. King Arthur grain comes mostly from the Midwest, but they are an employee-owned, Vermont company that originated in Boston in 1790. They’ve got history and they make really good flour. This, too, falls under the umbrella of “I value their craft.” (BTW, I also value the craft of the baking powder and baking soda people, so add those to my growing list of exemptions, too.)

This cake may not be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, but few apple cakes are. They’re rustic. This one has a large, soft crumb, and all these buttery, nutty, mapley notes that make it pretty irresistible. When I made it yesterday, though, the cake wasn’t tall enough due to the size of the pan I was using, so I doubled the amount of cake batter in the recipe. I HAVE NOT RETESTED THE RECIPE SINCE. I don’t have time. I’m, like, barely holding things together as it is. The recipe should work, by my calculations. I’m like 99% sure, but I will not accept hate mail on this particular point since I’ve already issued a warning.

So, who’s going to be the guinea pig? If anyone does my recipe-testing for me, I’ll link to your blog in return.

Apple and Maple Brown Butter Upside-Down Cake

If you’re not eating locally, you can still make this with regular brown sugar and apples from China.

In a 12-inch cast iron skillet, melt butter. Heat for 3-4 minutes, gently tipping pan back and forth, until butter turns a medium shade of amber. It’s hard to tell against the jet-black metal, but just make a call before it burns. Remove pan from heat and stir in maple sugar. Spread evenly on bottom of pan. Arrange apple slices on top. Don’t burn yourself. Go on, try it.

In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar. Add the eggs, milk, and cider, and mix well. Add dry ingredients and stir just until incorporated. Pour batter on top of apples. Bake 35-45 minutes, or until toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Let cool a bit and then loosen edges and bottom carefully with a spatula. Invert a plate on top of the skillet and carefully flip. It’s really freaking heavy. You will have some words for me. Cake should come loose onto the plate, apple side up. Serve warm. Vanilla ice cream never hurts.